On platitudes

Pretty Lady has spent the last couple of days feeling vaguely creeped out. She got into an Esoteric Wrangle with a gentleman she knows slightly. Usually, Pretty Lady thrives on Esoteric Wrangles; in fact, these are some of the major joys of her existence. But not this one; not this time. She feels, though, that perhaps she has learned a profound lesson about Not Going There.

This particular gentleman is a friend of a friend, who was introduced to Pretty Lady back in January. After piecing together the psychodynamics of the situation, Pretty Lady concludes that what actually happened was that this gentleman had an unrequited interest in her friend, and the friend tried to scrape him off on Pretty Lady. Being just slightly too young to understand what a bad idea this generally is.

At any rate, in the beginning, Pretty Lady took the gentleman at face value; a shiny-eyed, 'spiritual' martial artist with a strong predilection for intellectual metaphysics. Just her type, in fact. The two of them got into a rousing debate on the relative historical staying power of Christianity and Judaism, with side forays into the different methodologies of pranic healing, and the karmic psychomechanics of random assault. Fun, fun.

Pretty Lady casually bestowed her card upon this fascinating man, and prudently awaited a phone call, which did not materialize. Ah, well. Philosophically, she moved him into her 'friends and acquaintances' file.

After one dinner party and a couple of emails, however, even the acquaintanceship foundered. When Pretty Lady bothered to remember it, she was mildly irritated to note that even though this man purported to be interested in fostering 'community,' and lived a bare few blocks away, he could not be troubled to RSVP her open house invitation. This, in Pretty Lady's book, crosses the line from 'not interested' to 'needlessly rude.' She prepared to delete him from her address book.

Then, out of the blue, she received an email, sent from him to his entire acquaintanceship. It read, "We must be the change we wish to see in the world." --Mahatma Gandhi.

This was too much.

Pretty Lady has been thinking, in latter days, about the fact that it drives her quietly bonkers when people bombard her with spiritual platitudes. Usually, her instinct is to smile, nod, and say, "Of course Love is all there is. Of course Jesus Saves. Of course we need to Be the Change we'd like to See in the World. Absolutely. No question. You go, there. Whoopee."

But truthfully, she doesn't FEEL particularly loved when some stranger tells her earnestly that Love is All There Is. She feels as though they haven't taken the time or trouble to get to know her; she feels as though they're firing clichés in her general direction, in order to prove what a Holy Person they are. And when she smiles and nods her head, it is with a certain contempt, and resignation that no real connection has, or will be, achieved.

So when she received this cavalier note, for once she decided to BE the change she'd like to see in the world. She decided to say what she really thinks about this sending forth of indiscriminate spiritual platitudes, and sent the gentleman a paraphrase of the three paragraphs above.

He responded, 'LOL! i am very happy that you chose truth and honesty above social mores.'

Would that it had ended there.

But no. Pretty Lady, in her eternal optimism, made the mistake of attempting to engage further. She replied with a thoughtful note on the characteristics of a Spiritual Master, such as Jesus Christ. She propounded the notion that a true master Pays Attention, and Listens, and Knows All, so that whomever he is interacting with, he will say the precise thing to unlock that person's individual loving consciousness, no matter how bizarre that statement may sound to others.

In any case, what he says will almost never be a platitude.

Well. The gentleman, evidently aspiring to Masterhood, send Pretty Lady a ream of the most abstract, clichéd, inappropriate, disconnected spiritual rubbish she's ever been privy to. She will not reproduce either the rubbish, or her insouciant reply, in this context. It was nobody's finest moment.

However, what chiefly struck Pretty Lady was the total absence of personality or feeling in the gentleman's reply. It was as though he were channelling abstract verbiage from a Higher Being from Alpha Centauri, with only a tenuous grasp upon the English language. One wondered how, or why, he'd managed to write it at all.

So, in her reply, Pretty Lady joshingly attempted to get him to be a little human. She asked, in effect, "Is there anybody in there?"

He answered, "No."

Let us leave, for today, any discussion of why Pretty Lady was wasting one second of her time on this self-avowed shell of a human being. That is between Pretty Lady, her closest friends, and her wisest of sisters. She's working on it.

No, regardless of any remaining Aces of Spades on her forehead, Pretty Lady wishes to discuss, in a general way, the fact that it is unbelieveably horrific--mentally and emotionally abusive--to freely discuss Unconditional Love with a person toward whom one's actions are anything but loving.

You see, as M. Scott Peck so astutely puts it, "Love is an action, not a feeling." Love requires time, patience, and above all, attention. Primarily, in Pretty Lady's view, love is about listening; listening in such a way that one is open to changing one's mind about things, if truly convinced by what one hears. It is about giving the other person the credence of an equal.

This is why Love is not a platitude. Platitudes are words flung forth into the void of effort; they are alibis and excuses. When they are cast in the direction of a lady to whom one has failed to RSVP an invitation, they are a studied insult. In effect, such a person is saying, "this is all the love you're entitled to. If you want me to read your blog or attend your party, that's your ego problem."

This is why Pretty Lady has vowed in future to pay closer attention to people in general, but particularly to those who do not talk so bloody much. She realizes that she herself has been guilty of spiritual narcissism, as much as all of us are. But she is past the point of thinking that narcissism in others is her particular cross to bear.